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Topic: A New Day Dawns (Read 677 times)

Recent events had energized Jarmok, but they had thoroughly drained him as well.After watching Kossuth settle beyond the westwall he went into his cabin and lit a fire, settling into Mercer?s chair comfortably. He fell asleep early in the evening.

The morning of Duthash Zinnyas Fehy [8 May] came early. It was only false dawn, but Jarmok felt thoroughly rejuvenated. His evening fire was nothing more than a pile of ash and a lump of charred log that hadn?t been completely consumed.

Jarmok stretched languidly and stepped out onto his west-facing porch. Sythus smelled?alive was perhaps the best way that he could put it. He gathered his gear and went out on his morning patrol to meet Kossuth as that fiery orb climbed above the eastwall.

The morning was quiet and Jarmok lived for the solitude of that hour. Nothing stirred in or around Threshold this morning, and Jarmok greeted Kossuth from his perch above the Fortmount, as he was wont to do, eating of the young red and black berries that grew on the brambles in that area. Watching night turn into day solidified the learnings that he had enjoyed only these last couple of days. Change was everywhere in nature; such was the random order of things.

People started moving like large ants in the town far below him. Carts silently rumbling northward towards Little threshold, people barely seen through the mists of the morning Fogveil began going about their daily business. Maal entered the Thornhedge.

Then an odd thing caught his eye: Ashe was out and about, carrying a heavy-looking pack on his back. Ashe usually emerged a little later in the day. Seeing his mentor?s old friend, Jarmok remembered the Ring that he wanted to see. He wondered if Ashe knew anything about it.

One way to find out. He thought as he picked up his bronzewood battle axe and bounded down the hills that surrounded the Fortmount to intercept the old herbalist. Jarmok was running along the road from the area of Julius?s house and approaching the Wolfsong just as Ashe was beginning to cross it. He noiselessly padded up behind the herbalist and drew along side him.

It was a strange occurrence, to be sure, but this was the beginning of the warm season, one must think that these waters are fed from somewhere, which in turn would be fed by snowmelt, which would be present this time of the year.

Of course, Jarmok knew that Mahiya must be overly happy today because of the planting that he had just witnessed. He was glad to not have to face those townsfolk. He retreated into the forest and melted into it as best he could, the thunder of the shrine muting the voices of the curious left behind.

Even in that crashing din, Jarmok found greater peace and tranquility than in the quietest of taverns...he imagined.

Slightly chagrinned with himself, he thought that sooner or later he would have to immerse himself more thoroughly with the people of this town. Mercer had many times asked Jarmok to accompany him to the Hunter's Lodge. That would likely be as good a place as any to start. Probably better than most.

Jarmok and Ashe crossed the Angelhawk Bridge. To their left they could hear the rush of water similar to the excited founts at the Ring. Ashe looks glances over and says, "It looks as though this watery shrine to Istisha is also excited today!"

Jarmok looks over and could see that the normally sedate fount within the rocky culvert was gushing well higher than the cliff that surrounded it. The stream that lead away from it was rushing by as though it were intent on getting somewhere. The trees and cliffs were wet from the spray of the geyser and Kossuth's light danced with Istisha's water to create a brilliant rainbow over the shrine.

Ahead, many of the villagers and visitors had gathered to see the fantastic display. On the cilff above the residents of the houses up there were looking in amazement as though they'd never seen this happen.

One Villager looks over and says to the crowd, "Maybe Ashe the herbalist can explain it! Ashe..." the villagers start to walk quickly towards Jarmok and Ashe.

Ashe closes his eyes and sighs in frustration and says, "Great Grandtree, now I'll never get breakfast. Jarmok you better slip away now and avoid the hassle of..." Ashe points to the oncoming crowd, "...that."

Ashe nods and says, "The disease that Rawling had made him resistant to weapons of certain metals. The bronzewood is special in the way that it's wood that is better than metal. Many creatures have a way of resisting certain weapons. Against bronzwood they have no resisitance."

Jarmok was growing more and more confused by the moment. He had the feeling that Ashe was trying to say something to him, but the herbalist was so cryptic, his meaning eluded Jarmok.

The Festival of Trees was a long time off yet, so what bearing that had on this day's events - or other recent events - Jarmok couldn't tell.

He hearkened back to that snowy night when Mercer had introduced Jarmok to Ashe. After Ashe had left Mercer had said that his old friend often spoke in mysterious ways, and you might not understand what the man was saying for some time. This appeared to be one of those times, Jarmok thought.

"Only weapon that hit Raw-ling." Jarmok said, shrugging and pointing at his axe. He wasn't aware that there was anything unusual about that man with respect to weapon damage, although now that he though on it, there was a surprise on Rawling's face when Jarmok's axe had dug into the villain.

Why they were talking of trees, Jarmok didn't know. At least, were they to have such a conversation, one would think that it would be in regards to the new Vallenwood.

"The bronzewood, when it is crafted as a weapon, succeeds in combat where other metals fail. When you fought Rawling you might have notice that your axe damaged him better than any other weapon. This is the power of the wood."Ashe says holding the axe.

He swings it around with ease and says, "Not to mention it's lighter than metal too. My scimitar is made of bronzewood. Like the axe it was a gift from the folks of Threshold for those that they honor."

Ashe hands the axe back to Jarmok and says, "Once a year on The Festival of Trees I allow them to take one tree to be used for crafting. The trees among us are a precious gift from Mahiya. Sometimes people we know are too. Your a good soul Jarmok...a very good soul."

Jarmok was just beginning to settle back into himself as they approached Threshold and Ashe uttered the odd request. He was sure that his face betrayed his incomprehension as he pulled the axe from its resting place over his shoulder and handed it blade down to the herbalist.

"Sure..." Ashe said reassuringly "...whenever is good for you. You'll like Hunter's Lodge. The people there are much like Mercer and myself." Ashe smiled warmly at Jarmok to comfort his shy friend.

The two walked down the dusty road towards town. The peace of the woods flowed around Jarmok and Ashe. The birds were flitting about and rabbits scampered across the road. The morning mist had just about burned away allowing fingers of light to reach through the leafy canopy above.

"May I see your bronzewood axe?" Ashe asked as he pulled out his scimitar of like craft.

"Maccabeus, I know you'll take care of the little one. Some day your selflessness towards it will return to you..." Ashe says. The two departed into the forest.

The two passed through the forest and over the living bridge and back onto the road. Ashe looks at Kossuth and says, "Hmm...the day is early yet. Although I feel like an entire day has passed! I still have yet to eat breakfast. I wonder what Kym is cooking at Hunter's Lodge...Jarmok, have you been to Hunter's Lodge yet?"

"I think not." Maccabeus said to Ashe's suggestions. "I need to think on the opening of the Ring. Some alone time to meditate upon it, I think."

"Ung." Jarmok grunted his assent. "I go home." He said. "Walk back with you." He breathed deep in through his wide nose, smelling the rich air. Mahiya, he thought, was a marvelous crafter.

"I'll show you out at any rate. Maccabeus said. "Give me a chance to acquaint myself with this new configuration of the Ring." The little gnome led the quartet southerly, along a slight path that was parallel to the fiery-looking water. As they trod along, Jarmok began to see that the waterfall that he had seen though the tumult was in fact a spewing geyser. The air became cool and misty as they walked along that line.

Jarmok could not take his eyes from the fount that was in the small clearing at the end of the small babbling stream that now fed the acorn. There was in this place an odd paradox at work, he know; the fount sounded like water, but looked like fire. It was really a bit unnerving.

Jarmok lagged a little behind the others as Maccabeus led the way more southerly through a broad opening in the brambles. A trumpetbloom-lined corridor whose walls stretched up six or more men tall on either side. The floor was thickly carpeted by lush grass, and birds flitted among the fronds, fearing approach of neither man nor beast.

Then, abruptly, they were beyond the confines of the sanctum. Ashe plopped down to replace his boots while Jarmok looked longingly back towards the Ring of Mists.

"Travel safely, friends." Maccabeus said. "Jarmok, it was good to meet you this day, and based upon Ashe's words regarding your station here in Threshold, please feel free to visit us here in the Ring at any time."

"Hmmpg." Jarmok gruffed and took up the little man's outstretched hand. "Will come see." He promised.

"I have strong ties with the farmers here. I will explain...some of the situation here. They will no doubt see it as a sign of a good year for crops. They've probably never seen a Vallenwood outside of the Valley. It will be quite special to them." Ashe says.

"I'm actually ready to head back to town now if you want to come with me. This little tree of hope needs time to sleep now...newborns often do. Jarmok, I'm heading back...would you like to join me...us, if Maccabeus comes?"